A Certain Romance
by Sniggyfrumps
Summary: Gibson likes it when things are stable, sure, and tidy. Romantic feelings are rarely that. The result of said feelings are even less. - Gibova. Sequel to 'Flawless'


**A/N:** Hugs and kisses go to **beautybelle300256** for beta-reading and lovingly shoving me into the gurgling, whining vortex that is the genre of angsty romance. A friendly smack across the gob to **Matanzo-el-Mono** for writing the Gibova fic called 'Contact' (you can find it in his collection of oneshots called 'Relacien') that inspired this and absolutely sold me on the Gibson/Nova pairing.

This is a direct sequel to my Antova oneshot 'Flawless'.

* * *

**A Certain Romance**

**_"Romantic love is a mental illness. But it's a pleasurable one. It's a drug. It distorts reality, and that's the point of it. It would be impossible to fall in love with someone that you really saw." _- Fran Lebowitz**

Gibson knew Nova had ended things with Antauri. Everybody knew. It wasn't a secret when they decided to form a romantic relationship and it wasn't a secret when it all but blew up in their faces. Or, Nova did.

Semantics aside, Antauri informed them and asked them to be aware of the emotional troubles that might follow a break-up.

When Nova caught wind of that, she quite firmly told Antauri and everybody else in a less than flattering fashion what she thought about being molly-coddled. As Gibson recollected, propositions involving her foot and several imaginative ways in which it could come into contact with their collective nether regions were discussed.

Gibson had always had his doubtful speculations about the practicability and repercussions of inter-Team relationships. Now these very consequences were so annoyingly present that it took every muscle and every cybernetic part of him not to communicate entirely through lectures of "I told you so!"

Tempting. But they'd cart him off to the crystal mines on Ranger 7 before he'd even make it past "I to—"

It had always been a pain to watch (more importantly: _listen to_) Mandarin and Nova interact. That is to say: passive-aggressively insult and argue with each other, except that these days it was less of the passive and up to eleven on the aggressive part. She started to spend more time hovering about in his lab at odd hours, her logic apparently being that if she was fiddling with Gibson's installations and glass beakers then she was at least not arguing incessantly with Mandarin or deliberately ignoring Antauri.

Why she couldn't go off to throttle Sprx and Otto for ogling Shuggazoomian girls or playing noisy video games Gibson couldn't quite fathom. These opinions he aired one day when she was being particularly friendly with some more-volatile-than-usual liquids he was watching for reactions.

"Surely you would be just as, if not more, entertained being somewhere that isn't smack in the middle of my very important, not to be disturbed experiments, yes?" Gibson said and less-than-pedagogically ushered her away from his worktable.

She responded as expected: snorting and crossing her arms dismissively. "Those goof-balls. Half the time they think they need to walk on egg-shells around me and the other time they're just being so mind-blowingly annoying it's a praise to my self-restraint I haven't thrown them into orbit. Yet."

"That's nice," Gibson said absent-mindedly, shuffling papers and looking around for his pen. "Why don't you go practice that self-discipline some more then? I'm more than sure that I've got everything under control here, thank you very much. Or I would have, if you would refrain from moving my research around."

She reacted as expected: with obscenities.

"_Fine,_ you stuck-up piece of—" Narrowing her eyes, Nova turned around on her heel so violently sparks practically blew from the friction.

Gibson tutted and searched through the mess. _Where is that pen—?_

"It's in the crack to the upper-left. Where it always rolls to when you lose it."

She disappeared before he could make a retort about how he would be the one to know if—oh. It was.

_... hm. Unexpected._

-o-

Another day, after she'd sat and stared dully at his bubbling compound to develop popcorn that stayed crispy forever (what he told them officially, though, was that it was a new type of super-powered eco-friendly fuel based on potato peels) it occurred to Gibson that perhaps she chose to mill around his lab for the sake of company. _Silent_ company that didn't waffle on about whatever pointless ideas invaded their mind or conversations that didn't contain lame puns or tons of goofy pick-up lines or punish her with extra chores at every wrong glance.

Silence that wasn't awkward because she'd wanted to try that... being in love business... and it had gone awry but she was still trying her best to keep her temper under control.

Gibson bit the tip of his pen. He supposed he could act a bit more... receptive in the future.

He really didn't want to be on the receiving end of that temper.

-o-

"Good grief!" Gibson exclaimed and caught his hand before it darted out to the black eye in front of him.

"Like it? Mandarin's got a matching pair to show for it," Nova grinned wickedly. Then her smile folded back her usual angry frown. "What a drama queen."

Gibson didn't comment but quickly applied an ice-pack to her swelling.

Nova continued to sulk, quietly, for a while.

Until...

"... this is the third time this month."

"What do you mean?" Gibson asked while rummaging through the medical supplies.

"This is the third time this month Mandarin and I end up in fisticuffs ever since Antauri and I... well, you know what."

"... I was under the impression it was a training session that got a bit out of hand? A... heated argument?"

"Sure, we argued. With our fists. And the occasional kick to the stomach." Nova's eyes trailed to the floor. "You don't get kitchen duty until the end of everything for a 'training session that got a bit out of hand'."

He eyed her for a moment. Should he...? The last time he interfered the Team ended up with a break-up and an easily (more than usual, anyway) provoked Nova and Mandarin on their cybernetic hands.

"... what _did_ happen then, Nova?" Then again, he had a feeling he might as well rip off the band aid quickly and get it over with. She wouldn't have brought it up in the first place if she didn't want to discuss it somehow now would she?

A small explosion ensued: "He would _just_ _not_ _back off_! He just went on and on and on: 'Nova, you're a disgrace;' 'Nova you can't treat your superiors like that;' 'Nova you don't sit on your butt all day looking into the empty air like you've got nothing better to do so you must be the idiot muscle of the Team;' 'Nova, if you can't even get along with _Antauri of all people_ then there's something _wrong _with you'—and _then_ he gets all uppity when I'm _done_ listening to him be so monkey-doodling _arrogant _and I told him to stick it up the Robot's exhaust pipes and—and—and thus I'm off to slave forever in the kitchen._ 'Where I belong'_" She spat the last part in an imitation of Mandarin's high-and-mighty way of presenting himself.

Despite his silent promise to be a bit more supportive, Gibson still felt he should offer his trademark injection of common sense: "My, my, Mandarin becoming upset when one challenges his authority. It's practically unheard of."

"_Don't_ tell me you agree with that hot-air-for-brains _tyrant_?"

"Don't tell me you didn't expect him to react that way."

They had a small stare-down. Nova: angry and defiant, Gibson: neutral and no-nonsense.

She huffed and squeezed the ice bag.

He sighed and closed the med kit.

"You ought to continue those lessons in controlling your temper Antauri and you used to undertake," he said flatly, perfectly aware of the sore subject matter. However, he was tired of the increasing casualties; if it wasn't Nova breaking her knuckles during workout; it was her breaking her knuckles on Sprx or Mandarin. Any time any of them entered his lab he reached for the medical kit out of habit.

Nova exhaled noisily and angrily. When she didn't threaten bodily harm or told him flat-out no Gibson pressed on.

"Mandarin _is_ justified in his strict treatment of you if you keep up this attitude," he said straightforward.

Nova treated him to a withering glare and pointedly smacked the icepack on the desk.

"He doesn't have to be such a conceited _jerk _about it! And so what if the thing with Antauri bombed _completely_? That's _none of his beeswax_!"

"It's not my business to excuse his less-than-pedagogical behaviour but he _is_ our Leader and as such it is his responsibility to make sure we function as a whole."

"Don't get logical with me, Gibson, doodle-it, I'm too angry for common sense right now."

Gibson wisely opted not to comment on that, instead burying himself in some scans of the planet surface of Ranger 7. He'd made progress concerning a new fuel solution. Now, if only he could back up suspicions how the cellular structure of the surface crystals might react during intense heat—

"Gibson... do _you_ think it was stupid?"

He frowned into the microscope. "You really have to be more specific, Nova. I can think of a lot of things lacking sense."

"... me, being with Antauri."

The fact her answer lacked any sign of heated retort made him realise she'd shifted gears into serious-emotion-business-talk.

"People fall in love all the time. Nothing you or I or anybody can do about it," he answered, avoiding judgement. When she kept quiet, obviously waiting for him to continue, he frustratingly flicked through the pages of a nearby book, trying to come up with something. What was she expecting? She knew he didn't care much for all this romantic baggage that seemed to bog down all arguments in the Robot lately.

After dog-earing the same page four times, he put down the book and turned to face Nova.

"Well, I don't _know_, Nova," he started out of frustration. "Why do people start a relationship? Because they think they can gain something? For recreational purposes? No matter the consequences, you obviously believed it was worth it at the time. Every time we undertake any sort of venture, there is the risk of failure._ I_ can't tell you if it was worth it; _you_ should be the one to know if it was." Gibson was rambling, he knew it and hated it; since when was _he_ supposed to be the Team Relationship Therapist?

He tried to end the rambling before he made himself look like a complete fool: "As long as we all perform our duty to the Team in the end, what does it matter?"

Nova seemed to mull over that for a while. Finding that he desperately needed to occupy his hands, Gibson started twiddling his thumbs frantically.

"Thanks for your thoughts, Gibson," Nova said, smiling—why was she smiling, Gibson wondered. It wasn't as if what he'd said was an explanation of advanced cold fusion theories that even Sprx could understand (_that'd_ be _quite_ the feat), surely she could have come to the same conclusion; she was a bright girl, so sure of herself and her goals and—

"You're welcome."

-o-

"Gibson! You're _still_ up?"

Gibson turned, his neck screeched at him in despair at being cracked from the position it'd held for the last four hours, craned over stacks of papers, equations, theories, parables, algorithms...

"You've been in here since yesterday morning, you crazy screwball," the voice chided and started fussing about, moving cups and books for research around the desk.

The blue monkey squinted, drowsily reaching back into the depths of his brain that enabled him to put together whatsit—words and something—syllables before he swallowed his spit a couple times, driving up his signature indignant outcry...

"Thass is—erhm-hrm, that is important study material to further my theories, don't muck it up now," he barked, but lacked the energy to make it any more than a groan of dissatisfaction.

"Maybe I will. If I hide it you will have go get some rest. Maybe even _eat something_," Nova said angrily and shoved a ring binder of tabular findings into a cabinet marked 'Keep Out, Sprx – You Won't Understand This Anyway.' "What's so important that you hole yourself up in your lab all day? You missed piloting practice – which Sprx took way too personally if you ask me – and Otto had to rewire the Robot himself," she tried to pry another stack of books into a random cupboard and when she was met with spatial limitations she decided to just put a bit more force behind the push.

"Yes, yes, I was under special orders from Mandarin to—here, let me take care of that—to conduct extensive research into the behavioural cerebral and inner neuron patterns of the humans in order to—"

"That's nice. You can do that after you sleep and have a proper breakfast." Nova shook her head. "Sheesh, you'd think a freaking genius would remember to take care of himself."

"Don't patronise me." Gibson glowered, not catching the amiable undertone of Nova's scolding. "And I really must return to this first thing in the morning so there will be no time—"

"There will be plenty of time, Gibson. You can sort out the human brains for Mandarin later. Nothing is so important that you can't get your sleep."

"Nova, this is quite—"

"_Now_, Gibson." Nova ordered with such a tone of voice that left very little will in Gibson to disobey her.

He skulked out of the room, followed down the hallways under Nova's vigilant watch like a prisoner of war. She didn't even have to make sure he fell asleep – soft snoring ensued within two seconds of him having a glance at the sleeping tubes. Nova gently pushed the snoring scientist inside and closed the lid before scuttling to bed herself with an amused grin on her muzzle.

-o-

It was such a bother.

Not Nova hanging around his lab, shuffling his concentration away, silently demanding just a little bit of his focus merely by being present. Sometimes asking his opinion on this and that. Making sure he knew that his thoughts were wanted.

No, what was irritating was that inner voice that kept repeating the "I told you so, I told you so," chorus because it had no business doing so, given that Nova and he weren't... involved. At all. Ever.

The voice only sang the line louder when some little part of him grudgingly admitted his disappointment.

As Gibson sat at his desk, staring into the swirls of yet another solvent, he tried to discern the exact point in time that caused so drastic a change in the relationship of Nova and he.

It was with very little nostalgia he did so, as it was innately tied to his personality to analyze and categorize everything to the point of ridiculousness. Although he still found himself curious and oddly disbelieving – as if he couldn't believe that he'd successfully held casual conversation with a person of the opposite gender had he not been present himself.

And, certainly the changes were not 'drastic' in the average sense of the word (Sprx would sneer mockingly should Gibson ever describe his situation as such) but Gibson did pride and admittedly sometimes chastise himself for being anything _but_ average. And as such, even the small gesture of establishing eye contact was suddenly transformed into that kind of intricate riddle of multiple meanings, possible social catastrophe, and physical harm that the female gender seemed alarmingly expert at instigating.

The awkwardness of everyday interaction aside Gibson did not at all object when Nova entered his lab and started shuffling around and chatting politely with him. There was a certain gain from thus being socially acknowledged that one couldn't get from beakers and mathematical conundrums. When Nova sat there, confiding in him, sharing her innate strength, it was impossible for Gibson to sink into the mindset that he was merely yet another string of chemical compounds and atoms, acting and reacting in a world of similarly composed organic and inorganic matter, it was impossible not to... _feel_.

To feel... _special_ and... _appreciated_ and not at all like a complete sentimental _buffoon_ when he secretly longed for the moment when the door would next slide open and Nova would yet again interrupt his work.

Having thus acknowledged how much these small changes meant to him Gibson found himself sifting through memories to try and continue his doomed-to-fail enterprise of bringing some order into the world.

He supposed it began with Mandarin; as most of their emotional hook-ups and quirks seemed to stem from the dramatic departure of their former Leader.

It seemed, Gibson mused, that in a certain way everything worth anything in their lives began and ended with Mandarin.

-o-

The gentle chatter and banter in the room instantly subsided when Mandarin marched in front of the Main Room's big screen and barked at them all to be silent. He flicked on a switch, and the large screen in front of them hummed to life.

Gibson would have paid more attention to his Leader's diatribes about new patrol areas and the new, innovative plans he had to increase security in the City. He would have, but he didn't. Because Nova was humming lightly and tapping the tip of her tail in sync and for some reason it was _very_ distracting. Mandarin didn't notice that two of his subordinates were distracted, because a certain other member kept distracting _him_.

"... as such, more time will be delegated to sector A, B and E, seeing as they are high risk— _and what is it _now _Otto_?"

"Can we watch a movie when we're done?"

"... _what_." It wasn't even a question. It was just the sound of somebody not even caring to start comprehending what the other person could possibly be thinking.

"Since, we're having a Family Night and I bought jelly beans in bulk the other day and I was thinking of that one film with the little toaster who sings and the creepy clown and—"

Otto stopped talking when he realised the screeching sound he'd heard was the console crumpling under Mandarins gloved fist.

"This is a _Tactics Meeting_. There is _not_ going to be neither jelly beans nor G-rated films present _ever_," Mandarin hissed, nostrils flaring with pent-up murder instincts.

"... well, we could rent something else instead?" the green monkey suggested, not quite grasping the true reason why his Leader had his non-existent orange knickers in a furious knot.

Sprx quickly joined in the slowly eroding of Mandarin's sanity: "Good idea, Otto; I've been dying to see that new action flick with the giant platypus robots fighting the rabid vampire hamsters on Venusian 3."

"I am surrounded by _imbeciles_," Mandarin wailed angrily.

"Hey, you don't see us givin' you grief for _your_ taste in movies," Sprx quipped. "Seriously, if you make us sit through your shoddy old War Time movies again or, Shuggazoom forbid, another five-hour documentary on the history of the ashy grime that piles up in gun holsters I'm gonna start a mutiny."

"Ooh, I'll make the flag and the secret hideout! And cool rebel gadgets!"

"Viva la cinematic resistance, Otto!"

Normally, Gibson would've taken a not-so-secret pleasure in seeing Sprx get his comeuppance for his smart mouth. But as it were, only Antauri and Otto were left to drag Mandarin off Sprx, because Nova had given him a sideways glance and asked him to come help pick out a _proper_ movie to watch.

They'd never watched many movies with Mandarin in command, but these days, Otto's dubbed "Family Nights" had been even sparser and sparser. Perhaps they could change that.

While Sprx regained consciousness and Antauri rushed off after Mandarin to calm him down, Gibson smiled to himself. As long as Nova was always there, in the background, he mused; ready to roll her eyes at the others and get things done, things would never get too out of hand.

Of that he was certain.

-o-

Gibson knew that Nova was supposed to be many things.

Supposedly, as a female she was inferior in mind and body.

Supposedly, as a warrior she only knew how to respond to any given dilemma with violence.

Supposedly, as a monkey she loved bananas.

He did not care at all about any of that. He only knew that she was _Nova_ and she was _not supposed_ to look like _this_. To be suspended, death-like, unblinking, caught as a prisoner in the healing plasma of the nursing tube in the medlab.

Gibson sat with his back decidedly against her, not wanting to look at her more than absolutely necessary.

Nova was not supposed to be a... _victim_. The sight behind begged to differ and because of that he abandoned all scientific integrity about sight of proof and simply ignored the sight of Nova's frail frame that seemed so small - too small - engulfed by the machinery and tubes she was hooked up to.

The stillness of the infirmary was so absolute that he could occasionally hear her body thump weakly against the glass whenever her unconscious body moved about weakly. No doubt stirred on by the disturbing subconscious recollections of the past days.

Gibson almost slapped himself for being so pathetically sentimental in that he had never dared to believe that Nova had bad dreams. That she was the proud warrior who always got back on her feet with a fierce glare. That she had no fear. No weaknesses.

Of that he used to be certain.

-o-

The first thing Nova did after exiting the tube was fall to her knees in front of him.

Swatting away his thoughts of discomfort he proffered a hand and she took it, squeezing a bit too tight, shaking a bit more than she ought to, and he tried to ignore it, for her pride's sake, because he _knew_ she really wasn't like this, she didn't really need this like he sometimes, in his weaker moments, thought that he did.

But Nova didn't let go.

She pulled him into a hug and buried her muzzle into the side of his face.

Gibson, not knowing the first thing to do, paralyzed at the too sudden, too close, too personal_, _too _needy_ gesture simply stood petrified, with arms hanging dumbly at his side.

Nova breathed in quick, hard bursts and he did not know what to do.

So he did nothing.

-o-

The sound waves hit his auditory receptors and were translated into the symbols of language via his technologically enhanced nervous system, but even being the peak of cybertronic technology Gibson had trouble comprehended the words of his orange Team Leader.

"...seems self-explanatory, Sprx, that in a world where the strong usurp the weak..."

Gibson picked up strings of cliché sayings about power and necessity, heard calculations and theories proposed that he as a scientist acknowledged but he as a _sentient being_ could not, could _never_ accept.

"... the people are weak, and in need of guidance only _we_ are worthy of providing..."

He heard Mandarin's voice, steely and demanding as ever, but the comprehension just _wasn't_ present.

"... I expect you, my _loyal_ Team, to stand behind me as I embark on this quest of enlightenment for the good of all of Shuggazoom..."

Gibson _could_ not, could _never_, and _would_ never comprehend what made Mandarin think that they would ever follow him through this.

The temperature of the air seemed to rise significantly and he breathlessly turned to glance at his yellow Teammate.

A rage not even rivalled by Mandarin in his worst moments ignited Nova's eyes and her fists starting to shake uncontrollably told Gibson that she _knew_. She knew only _too_ well.

Regrettably, Gibson had come to know _her_ too well. He could practically see her falling apart.

No matter how hard her fists fell, no matter how the impact reverberated through the Robot, no matter how many time she brought back her arm and landed a disfiguring blow it was becoming desperately clear how close to breaking down she was. With a clarity he loathed, Gibson could see every fracture, every thin, fine line and how despairingly easy it would be to simply flick at the right place and watch her shatter to a broken shadow of a former proud warrior.

Gibson felt a hard knot in his stomach at that. Having seen something he shouldn't know. She wasn't supposed to appear weak but now he knew and he couldn't... she couldn't... it wasn't... how she was supposed to be.

He'd admired her for what she was most of the time but the ensnaring danger of getting close to another person also meant you were as well being made privy to what they _weren't_ most of the time.

With a strange pressure in the back of his head and an unpleasant, sinking feeling he watched her scream and lash out violently at their cackling former leader. But whereas he'd once seen her as unrelenting and brave it was now as if a blanket was pulled off his head and he saw her instead as the scared, pushed-in-a-corner girl who kept on going because she simply didn't know how else to cope.

And when there wouldn't be any punches to throw and she would have to find another way to unleash all those poorly-executed feelings of betrayal and grief and sadness and utter despair and fear for the future that he now knew they _both_ shared...

... he would not know the answer and she would not be there to ask for any. Because the door would be closed, he would be thrown back into his work and silence, silence, silence would drape around them and eventually they'd both forget why she ever ventured into his lab in the first place.

Of that he was certain.


End file.
